The Tale of Eomer and Lothiriel
by skinnyrita
Summary: You all know the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen? Yes. But what of the Tale of Eomer and Lothiriel? No blushing damsels here. Get ready for war. (And a little love) RnR!COMPLETE.
1. Lothiriel

Anyone who owns 'The Lord of the Rings' knows the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, which can be found in the back. I think it's about time someone wrote the Tale of Eomer and Lothiriel. So here it is. No damsels in distress here.

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Disclaimer: All characters and places owned by JRR Tolkien or whoever holda his copywright at the moment. Whatever. I didn't write LOTR.

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**The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.**

_PART ONE._

The long grass rippled noiselessly under the Sun, as three figures waded their way through it. They were close to the border of Dol Amroth, the city-port that was once one of the five great cities of Gondor, the largest city in the fief of Belfalas, ruled by the Prince of Dol Amroth. On the furthest horizon, blue banners marked with a white ship and a silver swan were clearly visible fluttering from the ancient Tower. At one time, long since, elves had dwelled on its shores, the city built by the legendary Elf-king Amroth, lover of the Elven princess Nimrodel, the elf maid who lost her way through the White Mountains and was never seen again. But Amroth had died in the year 1981 of the Third Age, and it had been long since elves had dwelled in that city on the shore, though the grace of that race was carried still in the might of its people.

"Shouldn't you be at home minding your wife and kingdom?"

This from the blonde one, walking in long, easy strides with that beautiful grace only Elven kind may possess, passing through the long leaves without so much as breaking a blade. Aragorn laughed, a soft husky waterfall.

"This may be the last of my adventures. And I do think I owe Imrahil rather a lot. But you could have gone on home, both of you."

"And what home would that be then?" grumbled the dwarf, puffing along a stride or two behind. "My days of stop at home are over, I think. At least 'til we find somewhere that serves better food!"

"Aye, Aragorn, Gimli and I plan to travel far. At some point I shall return to Mirkwood, I suppose, but I owe him a companion to view his famous glittering caves, and not before he has accompanied me on our expedition of Fangorn forest! And until the horns of our homelands call us back again, what better way to repay those who helped to fight our battles than offering a little support on their side?"

"Perhaps I should have rallied the men of Gondor myself, rather than sectioning myself with friends," murmured Aragorn, slowing to survey the landscape they were passing through. "I expect I am selfish."

"Nay, not selfish," said Legolas, calmly, squinting at the gulls flying around the tower on the horizon. "They longer served Faramir, and will understand your absence with old friends." He halted, suddenly. Gimli walked into him and huffed loudly. "Halt. Aragorn –halt! I heard something." He broke off again, surveying the long grasses carefully, grasses almost over the head of the elf. "Someone is here."

As silently as could be managed, they drew arms. Across the plain, Legolas spied a raised knoll, a short distance to the right. It lay on their route and was a landmark into the first hamlets outside the city. There, it flashed again: a shield or a spear. They were being tracked!

"Be silent," murmured Legolas, fitting an arrow to his bow, "they're onto us," and fired.

Twenty birds at least flew out of the long grass. The shot was returned with sudden silence. The walkers released their breath.

"Did I get him?" asked Legolas.

Sword, axe and bow ready, they made their way cautiously to the clearing. Empty. Empty? Aragorn whirled round on the spot. Gimli glared about into the grass. Where was the scout? And where was the arrow?

"Do you shoot everyone you do not know?"

Three heads flicked round, alert for action. Tall and graceful in the green and yellow blades stood a woman. She was long limbed like an elf but well muscled like a man. Her clothes were of greens and browns, and her feet were bare. Her neck was long and her face beautiful, surrounded by dark flyaway curls that were almost black. She was also armed. With shield, sword, spear and knives.

"Is this yours?" she addressed Legolas, and presented the arrow. It was unbroken and had no trace of blood on it. He raised his chin warily and lowered his bow. She handed it to him. "I suggest you look more carefully before you shoot." She dropped her shield, which was silver inlaid with blue stone, on the top of the knoll and sat on it so that they were a little beneath her. "Who are you, and what are you doing in Dol Amroth?"

"I am Aragorn the second, King of Gondor as of a fortnight ago," said Aragorn, lowering his sword and sheathing it. The woman surveyed him for a moment and nodded. "This is Gimli son of Gloin, and Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood."

"And are you usually such a poor shot, 'Prince of Mirkwood'?"

Legolas bristled. Gimli chuckled and leaned on his axe.

"Might we have the honour of your own name, Lady?" asked the elf, as civilly as he could manage.

"I am Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, daughter of Imrahil and leader of the three companies. It seems I am your welcoming party, son of Thranduil." Man and Dwarf knelt before the princess. Legolas did not. She gazed at him for a while, then smiled, and offered him her hand. He took it. "Come, a banquet is being prepared as we speak and there have been orcs tracking you. The evening draws on. May I suggest you accept the offer of horses?"

"Gladly accepted, in your company," said Gimli, eyes sparkling at the mention of the feast to come. Aragorn smiled in his own lopsided fashion and took the hand of the princess as well. She whistled and four horses entered the clearing from the direction of the city. A raven-haired man wearing armour bearing a ship as its motif rode one of them, and he led the other horses by their bridles.

They mounted and Lothíriel leapt lightly up behind the soldier, whose horse they saw did not wear a saddle. The bare feet of the princess swung lightly over the sides of the mare and her hair flew like a ribbon to the side with the wind. They made their way along the winding track that uncovered itself once leaving the grass, through the further houses of the city and in the direction of the sea, whose coast lay at the bottom of the hill and tower. As they rode, they were aware of troops in blue and white falling in to march behind them, all bearing the sign of the silver ship. There were many, enough for three companies, with the commander Princess Lothíriel riding it their head.

At length, when the shadows were considerably longer, the night beginning to fold over them, they passed through a large military camp.

"Fall out!"

Some men from each company left the column to find rest in their tents, yet a considerable section remained to march on to the city.

"So why do those fellows march on up here with us?" asked Gimli, knuckles white from gripping the reins of his horse.

"There are some that dwell in the city. They will fall out as we pass their houses. But there were many in the surroundings that lost their homes in an attack from the Dark lands earlier this year. They are encamped while reconstruction is underway. We're coming up to the city now."

They passed under two white stone archways. Gulls wheeled over their heads, disturbed by the clamour. Beneath them the sea was crashing in the cove. The companies behind them dispersed to be greeted by tall women saying, "Dinner's on the table, mind the children they're sleeping!" The riders dismounted and the armoured soldier led the horses away to the stables. They had come to the House on the Sea, the dwelling of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth.

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Please review! next part up soon, love skinnyrita xxxxxxxxxxxx 


	2. Legolas

Ok so part 2 is up! I hope you like this, I'm a bit less intro here, there will be Eomer/Lothiriel soon. I thought it could be a nice spin if there was a little Legolas/Lothiriel too. rubs hands together enjoy. Disclaimer: LOTR: not mine!

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**The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.**

_PART TWO._

They passed on up through the gates, to the small welcoming party at the inner doors; Prince Imrahil and his younger daughters, who were also tall and dark haired but could not yet be of age, unlike their sister Lothíriel, who stood out tall and proud and strong in the dying light.

"Father!" Lothíriel gave the soldiers' salute, the right fist knocking once on the upper chest, before embracing her father like the daughter she was, and then her two little sisters. Imrahil inquired for a moment after any losses and injuries. The three companies had clearly just marched in from a mission. He stepped forward to greet his old comrades, and said:

"Well met my liege and my friends! You're first of a large party! Blessed are you all for answering our call of battle! Our scouts estimate your men only an hour behind you, my Lord Aragorn! And we shall expect the riders of Rohan before midnight. I am truly in the debt of all other powers of men."

"Nay, you offer me a chance to repay my own debt to you, at the Pelennor Fields, my friend," said Aragorn, grasping his arm, "and all of my army is at your service."

Greeting over, they entered the hall and sat down for a while in counsel, but more reminiscing about their last encounters than plotting strategies for the new battle on their doorstep. They gathered close to the fire in large armchairs, and Lothíriel sat crossed-legged on the hearthrug, rapt with attention while they related past adventure.

"The troops from the White City and Ithilien are come, my Lord."

Lothíriel leapt lightly to her feet and rushed to the balcony to count the soldiers entering the city. There were at least eight hundred. Not many. Troops had been lost dearly in the War of the Ring. The men began to section off to camp in the large fields that had been cleared for their arrival, leaving those furthest to the city free for the riders of Rohan, due to arrive in later hours. A small troupe entered the city gates, their flags bearing the tree and stars of the King of Gondor.

"They're not as many as you were expecting?"

She jumped slightly, and turned to face Legolas who had crept up behind her. "I have many. My father has his knights. Rohan are yet to come. There are enough. It is enough that they love my father so much that they would help defend a small port such as this. But I wonder that an Elf would return here. You should be wary. Do not go to the sea just yet." She left him in the shadows.

"Faramir!"

"My cousin Lothíriel." They embraced warmly. "You're charged to keep me safe for my wife, cousin."

"You should have brought her. We're in need of tough women. Oh, you look well cousin. Married life looks good on you!" They laughed and hugged again, and he tugged her away from the crowd for a moment while Aragorn greeted his advisors.

"Lothi... I have brought you something." He produced a box. She frowned. It was not heavy. The cloven horn inside brought tears to her eyes. They prickled there. She inhaled sharply. "Had you married, he would have given it to your son. Lothi? Lothíriel please don't –don't cry for him. He died with honour and-"

She thought she might be sick as she looked down into the box at the last memory of her cousin. The only thing connected with him. "He- it didn't seem real. He really is dead. He's dead, Boromir is dead."

"Lothíriel..." Her head swam and she knelt on the stone. Faramir took one of her hands in his. It was limp and cold. "Please. We need you to be strong now."

"Leave me. Go to your counsel. I will stay here 'til the Rohirrim come. I just need some air."

He regarded her for a moment. "As you wish." He kissed the top of her head and was gone.

Lothíriel sat on the steps of her house and ran her fingers over the horn, fitting it back together so that it appeared whole again. She dried her eyes firmly and stared out into the night, which was glimmering with the light of the camps and the city taverns. Her hair hung over her shoulders to pool in her lap, blowing on and off her forehead in the light breeze floating up from the sea. The air smelt of salt and weeds. The reassuring smell of home. There was a footstep to her left. Legolas leant on a railing, staring out at the stars. Without looking at her, he said.

"Your cousin was a brave man."

"I know."

"You were lovers?"

"We were best friends. We were warriors. We passed our youth between the White City and Dol Amroth, learning our 'trade'. He said no woman but me would ever command an army. And now I have three."

"But you were to marry him?"

"It was arranged. It was to bring closer alliance to our cities. And it's not your business."

"I know." He moved over to sit next to her. "Look at the stars. I have seen so many ages of this world and I don't think they have ever changed. Did I really miss you? When I shot that arrow this afternoon."

She laughed. It sounded like a wave rippling in a rock pool. "It's my party trick. Catching the arrow just before it hits home. I hone my reflexes every day to manage it, but it's rather useful."

"I can't believe it." She challenged him to try. They stood up and Legolas fitted an arrow. He was at point blank range. "If your guards are watching it'll be my neck." He fired. "That's insane."

"You can't hit me. It's easy if you're concentrating. But you have to know you're being shot at and that's hard in battle. Your arrow, my Lord."

"You're right. About the sea. Lady Galadriel sent a message to me when we travelled through Fangorn Forest. She said that if I saw the sea I would never return to the forest again. I fear I will not. But I don't plan to leave yet."

They were close in the dusky light. Both were aware that this rendezvous looked like a lovers' scene. They were almost matched in height because of the Elvish blood in Lothíriel. But she was hardly as graceful, though she possessed a beauty to only be compared to Queen Arwen. And that was rare. Legolas was aware that they hadn't spoken for fully two minutes and were dangerously lost in each other's eyes. Then she broke away.

"Hooves," said Lothíriel. Her eyes roamed over the horizon and picked out spears. "Rohan has come. Cerahil! Find my father and tell him the riders of Rohan are approaching." The guard disappeared into the house and she pushed her hair back from her face, regal and authoritative again. Legolas respected her pride. "What of the King of Rohan? I hear he is a magnificent commander with a short temper and a will of iron. I hope I'm wrong, or we will certainly not get on."

Legolas chuckled. "He's headstrong but wise, a great strategist and a good friend."

"Great strategist? I don't wonder." Aragorn, Gimli, Imrahil and Faramir joined them. Lothíriel sat on the stone balustrade and feigned indifference, which made Legolas smirk secretly. The guard Cerahil went and slouched beside her and she rolled her eyes at him in the manner of old friends.

"Éomer, you old horse, you're late and we've eaten all your dinner!" called Gimli. They all laughed and embraced the last of their old friends.

"Greetings Faramir! How fares your wife?"

"Your sister is well Éomer and sends a message to come and visit and bring her back her horse!" They all gripped each other's arms and embraced like brothers. In all the commotion Lothíriel could not see the object of greeting, and leaned on Cerahil who offered her his pipe. The noise died down eventually and she could hear Imrahil saying,

"Where is my daughter? You haven't been introduced to my chief commander! Lothíriel? Oh. I introduce to you Éomer son of Eomund, King of the Riddermark. My daughter Lothíriel, commander of the three companies."

There was a short pause.

"You have a woman commanding your armies?" said Éomer. Lothíriel bristled.

"Just as you have a horse master commanding yours, son of Eomund."

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please RnR and no I haven't forgotten about my HP fic I'm just having a little writer's block. love to everyone, skinnyrita xxxxxxxxxxx 


	3. Imrahil

Hello! See I'm going to the effort of updating fast! Ok, reviewers...

Barneyrubble -u always send me lovely reviews so thanks!!

Sandry of Ruatha -oh no! I didn't know about her brothers! -shows how well I've done the research doesn't it. Oh poo. I've put hints about her brothers in this chapter and there will be further info throughout -you're giving me more to write! lol. thanks for your review, please review again to tell me what you think of the next parts!

Rocket -yes I think a little Legolas action is in order. I mean, hey, a girl's gotta have some fun, right? lol.

Striding tortoise -thanks!!! and I also love your name.

On we go!

oh. disclaimer. didn't write LOTR -can you believe it??

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**The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.**

_PART THREE._

There was a rather awkward silence. Éomer's jaw clenched and unclenched. Lothíriel flared her nostrils. A gust of wind blew across the walls and ruffled their hair and the horsehair on Éomer's helm. He cleared his throat.

"Apologies. It is not our custom in Rohan."

"You are not in Rohan," said Lothíriel. Imrahil coughed, pointedly. "Please feel free to remove your helm, my Lord, and accept our hospitality. Your generosity in aiding us has not gone unheeded." She offered him her hand but she didn't want him to take it. So, this man had never heard of a woman commanding troops? He was clearly all muscle and no manners. Éomer took her hand gently and kissed it. He did not want to. Who ever heard of a woman leading an army? The sea air had clearly addled the brains of Prince Imrahil. For despite Eowyn's past luck, women were clearly far weaker than men.

"My servant will let you to your rooms to be refreshed before dinner," said Imrahil. The guests began to disband. Lothíriel scowled at Éomer's back as Cerahil led him away. He had not removed his helmet. "Not well done," said Imrahil, rounding on her.

"He was rude, father. If he will not address me as a Lady I will not call him Lord or Liege."

"This is POLITICS!" snapped her father. Lothíriel flinched. The guards beside the door pretended not to notice. The Prince took some breaths. "The alliance of men matters to all of us. And the treatment of guests matters to ME. I know you are a great leader, because that is who I brought you up to be. But this is a man who has never been to these shores. Had your brothers not... have you not considered, my darling, that you might not have been in the position you have now?"

Lothíriel's arms began shaking and she gripped her elbows. "Don't ever say what if, father, don't you ever. Sometimes I don't think it is enough that I am here." Her father sighed and made a move as if to place a hand on her wrist. "Don't! Just don't. I know how much this means to you. And I know every single day that I am wearing the uniform that my brothers should have worn. Don't you think I feel that just as keenly as you? But I am a good leader, father. I know people don't always believe it, not even you, but I fill this post and work tirelessly for it and I am content. I will not be patronised by any man who thinks I am weak just because I am a woman. Just –let's not talk about it any more. I'll see you at dinner, I have to go and put on a dress or something." She kissed him on the cheek and swept into the house, her bare feet pattering on the cold white stone. Prince Imrahil leaned his elbows on the parapet and laced his fingers together.

The kitchen staff had outdone themselves with an array of seafood and sauces. Éomer, Gimli and Legolas, who had never been given the opportunity of eating such dishes, eyed them with slight trepidation, but Aragorn was eagerly discussing the availability of mussels with Prince Imrahil, who sat at one end of the table resplendent in some finery dug out of a long forgotten chest. His youngest daughters, who were on their best behaviour, sat quietly nearer the other end, adorably attired in matching dresses. They thought they looked quite the elegant Ladies, and the servants would comment afterwards how well they had behaved and how proud everyone was to have them as ambassadors for Dol Amroth. Along the lengthy and beautiful table sat the guests, who including the various advisors and captains of the now more numerous armies, there had assembled quite a crowd. There were no women amongst these. They were all waiting on a woman.

The crowd murmured amongst themselves, eyeing the food. The two little princesses grew restless. "Any moment now," Imrahil muttered to Aragorn who smiled.

"Arwen is always late to any dinner. I have a mind to throw all her dresses away so that she doesn't have the choice to keep others waiting."

"It's not her choice that worries me," said Imrahil, "only whether she will bother wearing shoes."

"Her royal highness, Princess Lothíriel, commander of the Three Companies!" declared the herald. The men rose. Lothíriel blushed and prayed for the ground to swallow her. The only spare seat was opposite King Éomer. 'Thank you, father,' she thought. 'Thank the Valar, she's wearing shoes,' thought the Prince.

The Princess walked up to the table to take her place. Her dress, as she came into the candlelight, was long and white and elegant, criss-crossed with pale blue ribbons. Her hair hung loose and shining to her elbows, and there was a circlet on her head incorporating the swan and ship. She was like a mermaid risen from the ocean. Éomer looked down at his plate and bit his bottom lip. He was angry that her looks were affecting him. There were no women such as her in the whole of the Mark. She was a distraction. 'That is why there are no women in battle,' he thought, and as they all became seated again he endeavoured not to look at her. But he failed miserably.

They were soon well into the meal. The men around her were relating past battles and getting stuck into the mead. Lothíriel sat bored, trying to act ladylike and not drink too much or spill her food or give into the urge to get her own pipe out. She observed the King of Rohan in between mouthfuls. She loved his hair, and it was really, really annoying her. It was long, as long as her own, but gold/brown, like corn caught in the sunlight. It was different to the long, even blonde-white of Legolas' hair. She could imagine Éomer's hair rippling out behind him in the wind... 'This is it,' she told herself, 'my entertainment for the entire evening will be the comparison of people's hair.' She did not tell herself how attractive Éomer was without his helmet on. Now and then she locked his amber-eyed gaze. But all she thought she could see was mocking: who ever heard of a woman commanding armies?

Legolas managed to engage the princess for a while and found her lively and open. Her laugh was like the surf rolling up the shoreline. His sapphire gaze fascinated her. She had never seen such a beautiful man before.

"You're the first elf I have met, my Lord," she said to him, later on in the evening. The main guests had retired to a more intimate sitting room. Large sofas and armchairs had been pulled close to the fire, the minstrels were playing, and smoke rings were chasing each other over the ceiling.

"I am glad to hear it," said Legolas, sombrely, "because they would likely be leaving Middle-Earth." They were sitting a little apart from the rest of the group. One of the captains was dancing with the elder or Lothíriel's younger sisters. Aragorn was watching them with a small smile on his ageing face, as if recalling a long lost memory. "But I see some Elvish blood in you, my Lady."

"Just a little."

"Would you care to dance?"

"I would."

They moved as a graceful unit, and some of the conversationalists turned to watch them: The Prince of Mirkwood and the Princess of Dol Amroth. Something in Éomer's stomach plummeted.

"You have round ears." They had moved out onto the large stone balcony off the sitting room, which glowed orange behind them.

Lothíriel laughed. The sound drifted down into the sleepy city like the clear ringing of bells. "What?"

"Your ears," repeated Legolas, stretching out a finger to touch the curve of it. "They're round. I thought they would look more pointed, but I'm thinking of ages long past." His finger travelled half way down her neck. Lothíriel breathed in.

"I am not an elf."

"I know, but-"

Someone coughed. Lothíriel broke away from the closeness quickly. She had not realised how dangerous it could be for her reputation and her father's to go to a private place, alone, with a man she had only just met. It was Éomer.

"Forgive me," he cleared his throat. Lothíriel realised that her hand was still on Legolas' chest to push him away and removed it hastily. "My men are retiring now, I just came to offer my respects, and apologise again, I- Goodnight, my Lady."

"Goodnight, I will see you in counsel tomorrow morning," said Lothíriel, her head was whirling with embarrassment. Éomer kissed her briefly on the hand and walked away. Her cheeks were flaming.

"I should do the same," said Legolas quietly. He bowed and returned to the main body of the room. She faintly heard him say goodnight to the other men. She remained on the balcony until the last one had gone. She did not remember it but Éomer had been the only man to seek her out. Just to kiss her hand.

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Please review! I might not be able to update for a while but I hope you're enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing it! Review! Reviews encourage more!!! 

skinnyrita xxxxxxxxxxx


	4. Benadil

Hallo people. Lots of reviews. Some nice, some not so nice but quite helpful so I forebear.

Shallindra - I love strong woman stories too. I can't believe that they all just floated around obeying all the men! Lothiriel's brothers dead? Who said that? Did I say that? Aha....

Klaw- thank you, I'm glad you're liking it so far! keep reviewing and let me know what you think! I like Legolas' character, it's quite a useful character for fanfics cuz in LOTR he doesn't actually get too much in depth coverage so it's easier to mess around with him.

WargishBoromirFan - eh? Your's is a rather angry review if I may say so! Though you are right, the arrow thing IS physically implausible. I saw it done (SFX obv) in a movie when I was younger and thought, hey imagine if that was real that would be so cool. So she can do it. Hey, it's fiction. Apologies for the time/date issue but I am one of those lazy people who is not making a scientific study on the antics of Middle Earth. I'm just writing a love story.

Lady scribe of Avandell- I hope Lothiriel isn't a Mary-Sue. She has many faults though you're making me think I'm being a little too subtle. She smokes and drinks and is pretty much unladylike, which I think can be seen from the story so far cuz I want her to have a little girt. she's also pretty arrogant, I think. However, again I apologise for time/date thing I didn't check how much of an age gap there was between ppl. You're right about one thing and it made me laugh so much: calling Eomer a horse-master isn't much of a comeback. I agree completely. But in the film of TTT, he seems so offended when Gimli called him it, that I felt it must be something that strikes a painful chord with him.

Chocolate trinkit- LOVE ur name firstly. As above, hoping Lothi is less sue-ish now. I thought hard about the elf thing. I think she would have some Elvish grace because in Dol Amroth they are half descended from elves. I also thought about the bowing thing and I think Eomer would bow to Lothi because she is a woman not because of rank. Also he is not Her King. Hoping these arguments make sense. Thanks for ur nice comments at bottom tho! -and as for her brothers... Aha....

Lometari- here I am updating!

Phew that took ages! On we go. Disclaimer: LOTR isn't mine.

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**The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.**

_PART FOUR._

The King of Rohan paced the council room. It was a high ceiling-ed hall with curving benches arranged in a semi-circle with smaller chairs in the foreground, which were for Prince Imrahil and his more important advisors. It was early in the day but he was a solitary man who rose early to check on his horse. The horse had been a gift for his twenty-first birthday from his cousin Théodred, before his untimely death and before they had even realised that the world was about to topple into darkness. Before the fates had turned and made him into this King that should not have been a King. He felt it keenly, but kept his melancholies to himself. His kingdom accepted him as their rightful King; all looked up to him and followed his orders. But a golden hall is very fine, yes. Maybe not for a soldier whose only wish had been to see the leadership of his cousin, and sit at his right hand –not in the throne itself.

Did that make him a weak man?

He was a proud man. Sometimes an arrogant man though he would not admit it and would never call his pride any sort of weakness. But he had weaknesses. For a King is like any other man when a pretty face distracts him. Most give in and will seek to woo the maiden. But attraction to Lothíriel had just made Éomer angry. She had the pretty mask on her face that made any man weak at the knees –why him? All he could see when he looked at her character was a stubborn woman who wanted to play swordfights and gain some 'honour'. Unlike Eowyn, Lothíriel had been given some authority for this game by her father and this is what struck a chord with Éomer. In his utmost thoughts he wanted this headstrong woman put down, injured in battle. For any victory she might gain on or off the battlefield could only reflect badly on the men around her, and what then? Would they be given work like men? Give up domestic life for the soldiering life? Vote for advisors? BECOME advisors!? But in his deepest heart, he recognised the respect for a woman trying to raise herself above her proper station, filling in the gaps a brother should hold. Just as he had rested his feet in Theodred's shoes. He quashed this moral thought and concentrated rather on the arrogant face that had been his greeting the previous meeting, and her ungainly flirtation with Legolas.

Éomer was standing in a square on sunlight. The sun dappled on his chest and gilded his hair. The sea stretched out forever on the horizon of his view, one knee resting with graceful ease on the window seat. For once completely relaxed. The door of the council room banging against the adjoining wall jolted him out of his stupor, and he turned sharply, alert instantly, his right hand straying to the hilt of his sword. Lothíriel stood motionless in the doorway, having just spotted him. She was silent for a moment. The man before her, drenched in gold looked like a radiant spirit, a man transcending mankind. The meaning of beauty. And for a split second she had thought it was Legolas. This made her feel ashamed. Barbed as he appeared to be, the King of Rohan was not an ugly man. They had been standing in foolish silence for too long. She cleared her throat, and made an uneasy curtsey.

"Good morning my Lord, I hope you slept well," she offered, moving into the room and into the heady light. It soaked her clothing and made her feel unwashed.

"I wish to be billeted with my men, if that is possible," said Éomer, cuttingly.

Lothíriel's temper flared, instantly offended. "Is this a comment on your host's most kindly offered hospitality?" she asked, barely civil. She felt her nostrils flare. They were the part of her face that would always betray her feeling.

"I wish to be nearer my horse," said Éomer, hastily correcting, "I hope you or your father will not take this as any slight on your hospitality." He moved closer, removing his hand from his sword at the risk of being misunderstood again. 'Stubborn wretch,' he thought.

'Arrogant soldier,' she decided, and was about to attempt some witty quip when he asked, sounding concerned, "My Lady Lothíriel, are you injured?"

She glanced down at her clothes, which she had to admit were not what she would wish the King or Rohan to see her in. She had passed that way hoping to come across her father. Her shirt and breeches, neither suiting the female form, a fact that didn't generally bother her but right now seemed extremely important, were dark and stiff with soiling. "One of my captains. He led a scouting party across two hundred leagues since the evening before last. They returned, few of them. This is his blood, not mine. They arrived this morning. All evil has gathered from the last corners of this world and would make its end here. We will have to meet them between here and Gondor."

"Because you do not wish your city to be under siege?"

"Because it will be a very large battle. They are gathering quickly. All Middle Earth is coming together for one more clash. They are already almost ten thousand strong. This news they brought me at half three this morning. I have been all over the city and surrounding lands, gathering information from my reports to go into in more detail in council."

"And your captain?"

"He is dead. He died half an hour ago. Excuse me, sir."

"You are not come here for the council?"

"I came in search of my father. But it is near seven. Breakfast will be in the hall at nine if you wish for it. Excuse me, I keep to a regime."

Lothíriel shut and bolted the door to her chamber and kicked it. There was something that infuriated her about Éomer that she couldn't put her finger on. He made her feel inadequate, not just as a soldier that she could plainly see he did not approve of, but as a woman as well. She ripped off the stained shirt she wore and stamped on it a couple of times in childlike frustration. Because of the unexpected and highly unwanted conversation she'd held with the golden haired irritant, she would be late for the sword and in her distracted state was likely to perform badly. She cast a longing glance at her unmade bed before tugging on a clean tunic and belting it. A half empty glass of wine stood on her cabinet and she downed it quickly before departing.

The sword ring was a small gallery with a stage in the centre. Various captains of all the armies that had gathered were there practicing, honing their skills. They bowed to Lothíriel and she sought out her second in command, who was seated in the gallery observing the reflexes of some of the Rohirrim. Their style was more of a stabbing motion than the sweeping slashes used by the foot soldiers, a sign of well-bred riders, adept at using arms from horseback.

"They need to move their feet," he said dryly, taking his pipe from between his teeth and offering it to Lothíriel who inhaled deeply and held the fumes in her lungs for a while before exhaling. "But they had good standing posture. For riders. Their Commander but drill them hard."

"Their commander is their King."

"You don't like him very much, do you?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"From your father."

"You saw him this morning?"

"I gave him the news the scouts brought in. He wants to present a medal to our esteemed captain's widow. I said, give her some money, that would probably serve her better."

"Well thank the Valar one of us could find him. Come; let's have some exercise before I fall asleep. Time seems to be running away today and we have to attend council... I have no breathing space at all."

"Take more rest, my Lady. You will fall down dead before your time. The ring is clearing. Let's show the Gondorians how it's done."

They sparred with the blunt wooden training swords, sparing no mercy for each other; beating out tiredness and the grief for the men they had lost that morning. The ring cleared completely and men leaned forwards in the gallery to watch them fight. They drilled with force, as if they really had the intent to kill, as if the soldier opposite were an orc or wildman. Lothíriel's reflexes were impossibly fast, writhing like a snake, using her feet to advantage, but the man could use his weight to pin her. When swords failed they had no qualms about kicking each other. Their drill ended in a spectacular finale where through some ill-conceived turn both swords went whirling over the heads of the audience and clattered onto the floor. The second commander, whose name was Benadil, bowled over the Princess and pinned her to the ground. There was applause.

"Ok I give up now!" said Lothíriel breathlessly, "you win, you win." They laughed good-naturedly and he pulled her up. "I've missed breakfast again. Come, we should go to the council I suppose." Outside the door the corridor was deserted. It seemed to shudder and grow darker. "Benadil," said Lothíriel, urgently. She gripped his arms tightly.

"Commander, what ails you?"

"I- I- N-nothing. A d-darkness took me."

"I did advise you to take more rest. My Lady!" Lothíriel's head lolled backwards, extending her pale neck. Benadil scooped her up in his arms and half dragged her to her rooms before anyone could see her in that state. He knew of her worries that no matter how great a soldier or war strategist she was, people, MEN, would only see the woman and not the mettle. He startled the maid who had been making up the bed, and laying the lady on it bid the girl hurry for some water and reviving herb.

The council met and adjourned and Lothíriel remained in bed, weak with fatigue. "Unfortunately it is no condition treatable," said the healer, after examination. "She is before her monthly cycle and required more sleep and food than she allowed herself. In her bid to manage her gruelling self-designated regime she has injured herself. She has become too weak to move today. Any commander, regardless of sex would have had troubles with the grilling regime she sets for herself. If she continues in this vigour, it is likely that she will drive herself into an early grave." This said to Imrahil, who felt the words as though they were pointing at him; in his doubt for his daughter's capabilities, he had pushed her too hard.

But war cannot be delayed.

When Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, leader of the Three Companies awoke for a substantial period, two days later, she learnt that the riders of Rohan had been given the task of ambushing two connecting groups that were reported to be approaching the massing orcs. The assignment that she had hoped to be given, to prove her worth a little and those of her forces, who had instead been held up at the city doing drill with the knights of Gondor instead. Both ambushes successful, acclaim had fallen on the head of the King of Rohan, who had expressed utmost concern for her 'womanly' condition.

She was livid.

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Please continue reviewing! As you can see I take them into great consideration! 

Love, skinnyrita xxxxxxxxxxxxx


	5. Seashore

Hello again, I am afraid that despite quite a few flames I will still be ploughing on regardless, as usual, but first to the reviewers, some of whom were lovely and gave pointers, some of whom were... less than lovely.

Steelsheen -thank you very much! I think that elves need a bit of a break from falling eternally in love, but for those who worried about a Legolas/Lothiriel fic, I hope this chapter clears the air a little. Ah yes, the sexism of Eomer. You gotta feel sorry for the guy. But he will soon come to realise the worth of his lover-to-be and I hope not everyone thought he was overtly sexist, just misguided. Please review and tell me what you think!

Barneyrubble (and betty!)- yes I think all kids and their parents fight -just like all girls get periods like Lothiriel! Brothers' whereabouts uncovered in this chapter.

Bert -apologies. Nest time she sees him she will bow to the ground.

Lady Hades- I'd get into a fight with you about your rather mean comments, but after looking at your own fics I see that you are already fighting with several other people. Please, if you don't want to read what I write, then just don't. Before I sign off to you, hoping I'm not being too rude back, I'd like to point out that three companies is extremely different to three armies. Also that there is no way that a Princess can be a normal woman. There is a world she was born into. Do feel free to review again, excercising manners or at least being vaguely civil. Many thanks.

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_disclaimer -I am not JRR Tolkien, I am skinnyrita._

**The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.**

_PART FIVE._

"But father, you must see that I should have been at the council myself! Therefore-"

"I do not see that, why should I see that? Benadil assumed his rightful leadership to lead your side of the council, in your stead, and a conclusion was brought under a sensible discussion and vote. Can I make myself plainer?"

"But I- No, father, you cannot make yourself plainer."

Imrahil exited the chamber leaving Lothíriel to scowl at his retreating back like a sulky toddler. The council has been carried out through her unconscious state and had reached solutions without her. By splitting their forces, which were conveniently outnumbering their foes, they would conduct two ambushes. The Three Companies, which normally operated in three sections (foot, artillery, and riders), would carry out the first ambush. The Riders of Rohan would be supplementing the riding company of Dol Amroth. And this is what was so greatly offending to Lothíriel, who smugly considered her riders to be well above the average when such skill was required. In the back of her mind, a little voice nagged her that the Rohirrim, who were all born and bred for such combat, were probably largely superior. The second raid would be conducted by her father's swan-knights of Dol Amroth and the Gondorian army.

She was still sore from learning about the successful raids that had been undertaken in her absence. She conceded that it was obviously a very good thing to have conducted an ambush successfully, but her pride had been hurt. The most unhelpful remark had been from Éomer, who, though bloodied a little from battle, had been to her chamber as soon as she awoke to ask her if she was feeling 'quite well enough to fight in the coming week.' He meant to be kind and repair any damage that had been caused by their frosty introduction. But in her mind, she thought he was rubbing her nose in his war technique. She was jealous.

"Thank you sir, I am quite well," she had replied, inclining her head as little as could still be termed polite. She was sitting up in bed swathed in furs, ignoring the dull period pains in her womb, with the battle strategies and the council notes spread out before her. Éomer continually addressed the floor, not knowing where he could politely look when addressing a young woman in bed before him. She had noticed, and smirked secretly.

"The command of the Companies has always been shared between three. They were my brothers, of course. Now Benadil takes the foot soldiers, Neoman holds the artillery, and I have the riders. Is that alright?"

Éomer cleared his throat. "The Rohirrim will supplement your riders."

"I am aware of that, my Lord."

"Ah," he looked towards the window, its white curtains billowing in the breeze. "I take my leave, then. Please accept my best wishes for your returning health, my Lady."

"I thank you for your regard, sir."

The door closed. Lothíriel released a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Her legs felt suffocated under the restrictive blankets and she yearned desperately to get down to the shoreline to stretch them. She shook her head and attempted to concentrate on the papers before her, memorising where each of the Three Companies would be in relation to the main battle site, and where the riders would be hopefully concealed in the woods to the side. She marked a little dot on a page where she would wait with the scouts to give the command. Her wrist flicked up irritably; that would mean that Éomer would have to give the main command for the actual ambushing. Damn. She'd wanted to do that bit.

The beach was devoid of people when she got there, the grainy white and brown sand stretching away for miles on either side. She slipped off her sandals and revelled in the feel of it between her toes. The wind was up, the waves crashing into the beach in a steady rhythm –how she liked it best. Salt and seawater whipped her calves as she lingered close to the edge. She glanced up at her house quickly and seeing no one, sprinted up the beach as fast as was possible with the sand dragging her feet. She was holding her dress out of the way up to her knees; sand flicking up under her heels.

When she reached a small sand dune, out of sight of the main part of the city, she sat down with her knees pulled up to her chest, her browning legs gleaming in the noon sun, the sandals tossed carelessly to the side. She crossed her knees and laid back, relaxation spreading through her bones. It was unlike her to have not kept to any sort of regime today. She liked it.

"This landscape is strange."

She didn't know how long she had been dozing, but her eyes snapped open immediately to behold Legolas –not an unwelcome sight. He sat gracefully down beside her. "Take your boots off," she said, with a rueful smile, "and you will see." He did so.

"My, that feels… very odd," he said, after a moment. Lothíriel smiled. "It's vast, isn't it?" he said, nodding towards the horizon. The waves had settled down and there was hardly a line to distinguish where the sea met the sky.

"I think you shouldn't be sitting here, Prince of Mirkwood," said Lothíriel.

"Ah, don't worry about me," said Legolas, stretching his long legs out before him. "I'm not in such a hurry to sail just yet. The time has not come yet."

"How will you know?"

"I'll know." They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the gulls wheeling over the water and the waves breaking gently on the shore. "I wonder how I will get to the undying lands. It must be far off if the sea has no boundary to see. My love is waiting for me there, on the shores of Valinor."

Lothíriel glanced at him and noticed suddenly the burden of the many years or his life aligned on his brow. "Won't you sail to her?"

"There is time. She will still be waiting for me."

"Has she waited long?"

"Not to me. Three hundred years give or take. It's not that long," he turned to face her, his expression closed to her because it remembered something she had no notion of. "I've still got time… -You fixed it!"

His gaze had fallen to the large horn hanging at her side. The broken horn of Gondor. Lothíriel's hand went to it immediately. "I would ask you not to tell my father, sir. Or Faramir. I thought –I hoped, it might bring me luck in battle."

"I am sure, Princess, that you need no such luck. But my lips are sealed."

Lothíriel moved and searched the blue horizon again before confiding, slowly, as if what she was revealing were a secret that would be hard to understand: "I need all the luck I can get until my brothers return. They led three separate scouting parties. Two, were intercepted and lost. The last, which was that of the youngest of the three, was re-sent to discover them. None of them ever returned. My- my father, he does not say as much, but each day he fears their deaths. I feel it terribly in his mood, the onset of desperate despair… he knows my leadership is not as strong as theirs. I –I try but my heart misguides hope."

Legolas reached out and took her hands gently. She gripped them so hard that both of their knuckles were white but he did not pull away. She addressed him fully, her eyes desperate and wild for reassurance.

"There were no bodies found, no mark, nothing that could trace their deaths or survival. The men picked up the rumours of spirits that swept the lands long ago before Elves or Men settled. They are dark tales of things I dare not name but they are widely believed now and how can I restore hope? My father looks to me to make things right and I will do it but I find myself so deep in doubt. There is little wonder that he seeks to dull my authority by allying my company of riders with that of Rohan! For what am I? I am nothing, no, nothing and their commander is a King! And… a _man_."

She was breathing hard, her face stricken with terror as though she had said the worst curses imaginable. Brown eyes met blue and saw compassion. Sympathy and concern, kindness and reassurance. The frustrated tears that had been building for months began to flow silently. No sobbing for a heart so deadened to grief for so long. Legolas carefully disentangled the fingers of his right hand before wiping away the tears carefully. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

It was a chaste, innocent kiss that spoke of friendship and apprehension, rather than lust. It had a message of faith that the lady leaned into for a moment before they both drew back. Lothíriel relaxed and pulled her hands out of their vice-like grip. Legolas let her rest her head on his shoulder while he encircled her in his arms -a net of safety.

"Aranel, mellonamin, linwë calmcacil."

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a/n -hopefully Legolas' parting words mean 'princess, my friend, keep hope', but I'm extremely terrible at finding sites to translate into elvish.

Can someone please tell me -what are the names of Lothiriel's three brothers? Or I will have to make them up as I have no idea at all.

thanks for reviews, even the nasties, please review again,

love skinnyrita xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


	6. Strategy

Hello again. Haven't I updated fast this time? Obviously I have nothing better to do. How sad is that. Lol. Reviewers first-

Blue Eyes At Night- thanks for your help! and I'm glad you're enjoying it! Lol no, no offence taken to anything at all -I hope I haven't scared people off reviewing! Oops. Yes, I reckon I will have to put 'warning: AU' or 'plot-what-plot' on this but hey I'm havign heaps of fun annoying people and also getting nice feedback from peeps like u! lol. do review again xxxx

lady scribe of avandell -you've reviewed before, haven't you? blimey you write a long review, it's like the footnotes to the story or something! (not in a bad way :-)) I am sorry if you think she's a sue but I really can't help it because I'm far too lazy to start again. Good idea about the nickname, I never thought of that (except for Faramir calling her Lothi). In this fic, her brothers cannot have fought in the Pellenor Fields. I'm sorry but as I wasn't even sure about who her brothers were that will have to do. You are obviously an expert on tolkien whereas I am not, which is sad, but a fact of life. I'll tell my current beta to not give up the day job ;-). Thanks for nice parting words, I also think you are a good writer too. Do review again. Hoping that you don't hate my character, I've just made her as likeme as possible, except that she's mildly pretty. xxx

Sarah- thanks so much for those, they will crop up later. You're a key.

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Ok in this chapter we get the bit where Eomer and Lothiriel get over their differences and suddenly want to get it on. Before you all flameme for moving too fast, this is based on life, so hopefully it's not too bad. I also owe the reviewer who i think was called lady hades or something an apology, as I checked her stories after my comeback at her for her flame, and she is no longer (it appears) having big arguments. So let us all hope that all users have found peace with each other. On with the tale. 

disclaimer -if i really owned Eomer do u think he would be after Lothi? Oh NO, he would be after Me Me Me. So there. All I own is a computer and a wild imagination where people can catch arrows with their bare hands :-) -enjoy.

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**The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.**

_PART SIX._

Éomer awoke in the night. It was dark, the archway onto the balcony glimmering in the gloom with shells and pearls from the deep. He could see the chink of silver light though a gap in the dark curtains of his bed. Something rustled again and he sat bolt upright, groping for the knife he kept under the pillow on the unoccupied side. Perhaps servants came to clean in the night but he was usually too far asleep to notice? He tried to concentrate, pinpoint the sound, but his head was groggy with sleep.

He had had a filling meal and a tankard… or few of mead, and was feeling slightly weighted down. He had been so engrossed in avoiding the Princess, who he was now completely sure absolutely detested him, that he had just concentrated on his food and his conversation with Faramir and Aragorn as they all discussed the possibility of building better roads between their main cities. It had been a new subject to him, and Gimli had managed almost to lose him completely when he had pitched in his penny about the best, most hardwearing types of rock they would probably require. This sort of talk was what he had advisors for, but they had already retired. However, he had tried his hardest to look knowledgeable. You can't know everything, he reasoned, and tried to drink in their words in the hopes of learning something other than the emptiness at the bottom of the tankard he was holding. Anything to withdraw his gaze from Legolas and Lothíriel, who were talking animatedly. When he had felt his jealousy peaking, he had felt it best to excuse himself. But not before he had kissed the lady's hand.

Now he had awoken in the night.

He nearly had a heart attack when the curtains were suddenly wrenched open and to his absolute horror, Lothíriel was standing there, looking very awake, with a large roll of parchments under her arm.

"Oh good, you're awake, son of Eomund," she said, briskly, eyeing the knife which he quickly dropped over the side of the bed.

Éomer's first thought was that thank the Valar he wasn't sleeping in the nude. "I, ahem, um…" he said, incoherently, finding himself in the most surreal situation.

"Budge up," said Lothíriel, wickedly, slinging the papers onto his lap and wriggling under the blanket, "by the Valar your bed's cold, isn't it?"

"I, er, um… what?"

"I've come to talk strategy. You have a reputation as a good strategy-man, Éomer King."

"In bed?" asked Éomer, incredulously, now completely awake and extremely perturbed by this incredibly unbelievable situation.

"I find that men are more persuadable in bed."

"Oh."

"I did hope to talk to you earlier, of course, but it wasn't to be. I can't ambush orcs with you tomorrow unless we hone our strategy TOGETHER. So, here I am. Is that okay?"

"…Yes." Éomer collected himself and surveyed the pieces of parchment, which it transpired were the minutes of the council meeting. He steeled himself. War. He could do this. He could do it blindfolded with his arm tied behind his back. Woman in his bed, or no woman in his bed. Right. Get it together. OK. "Well the location has been pre-arranged as you will have seen. Our forces combined, being the first to attack the massing force, must be prepared to cover all escape areas. Scouts will be required…"

They must have talked into the early hours, until both were of the same mind and their voices were hoarse. Lothíriel had grudgingly admitted to herself, that this man was a blessing. Her expression had cleared to open admiration, as Éomer's experience, so superior to her own, had uncluttered her mind. If Éomer had not steeled himself to forget her beauty for one night, he might have seen it and begun to hope.

The shades of sleep began to fall away and the King of Rohan moved over. His elbow touched something warm and his jolted awake, recalling the night's events in a flash. Lothíriel was still in his bed, hair a mangled mess on the pillow, one hand cushioning her head, the other arm extending over the other side of the bed. He swallowed, and slipped out of the bed, trying to make as little noise or movement as possible. Lothíriel mumbled and turned over, bunching up the blankets. He stared at her. He hadn't seen anything to wild and so beautiful in all his life, and he had known many women. Even loved a few.

He glanced down at his crumpled clothes, then back at Lothíriel. She was most definitely asleep. He opened the bed curtains and rooted around for a cleaner, less creased tunic that looked presentable enough to wear to breakfast with Prince Imrahil.

Lothíriel opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. That was not her ceiling. Her ceiling had a fresco of shells covering it. This ceiling was swirls of white and green. This was not her ceiling. She must still be in his bed, then. That could be awkward. She had felt confident and controlled in the night, when it was too dark to see anything bitter… or any attraction. She turned over quietly and slid both her hands under her face. The curtains were open and she registered Éomer with his back to her. She was about to decide on some witty comment to start the day with but her voice caught in her throat as he suddenly whipped his shirt off and started groping for another one.

Lothíriel's heart was in her mouth.

Éomer had a very toned physique, the smooth planes of his back segregated with old, fading battle scars. His tan was deep, golden and uneven, and in her mind's eye she fancied she saw him riding across rolling fields, revelling in his horse and the exhilarating sun. He tensed, shoulders becoming extremely still. Then he turned.

Éomer had suddenly sensed her eyes on him. She would probably say something clever and cutting now and he would have to think of something to say back… He would have to do it. He must turn and face her. Look her in the eye.

Hunger.

Lust.

Desire.

Those were emotions he had most definitely NOT expected to encounter.

Lothíriel's lips quivered. He stood staring at her as she looked at him shamelessly. 'This is not how a lady is supposed to behave…' the small voice that was her conscience, a voice that always sounded like her father, was a long, long way off, shouting desperately. Her head was swimming, her heart was jumping, and her stomach was about to explode. They stared at each other. The beating of their hearts was clanging madly in the silent room.

Éomer wrestled for a second. Reason told him to turn around right now, put his tunic on and leg it out of there before he did anything stupid. 'Like kissing her?' said a little voice. 'I want to kiss her.' He had never been surer of anything in his life.

Lothíriel swallowed. 'No, no, it would be the worst thing for my position… for my reputation… for my…' Éomer took three paces across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. They both looked absolutely petrified. It was make or break time. 'I really want to touch that man…' Lothíriel reached out and touched the thin scar under Éomer's right pectoral. His resolve broke into a hundred pieces jumped out of the window.

"Lothíriel…" Éomer lent down and brushed his lips close to hers. Their breaths intermingled, at the brink of the meeting of their mouths. Lothíriel felt like she was in excruciating pain for a second, before Éomer bent his head to seal the kiss…

RA-TA-TAT-TAT. RA-TA-TAT-TAT.

The figures on the bed sprang apart just before their lips could touch, leaping with terror at the loud rapping on the door. "My Lord Éomer!" said a voice. The King glanced back at Lothíriel, who gulped and slid under the blanket and out of sight. Éomer dragged on the tunic he had picked out and collected himself, masking his face from expression. He cleared his throat, and opened the door.

"Good morning."

"Good morning my Lord. Prince Imrahil sends word that breakfast will be served at ten when he returns from his private assembly. I hope that you slept well? We take it as an honour that you decided against being billeted with your men. Is there any other wish you may name for your present welcome?"

Éomer adjusted his tunic. Sneaking a glance at the bed he noticed a curl of brown hair snaking onto the pillow. "No such wish, I thank you. Please send word to the Prince that I shall attend him directly after I have met with my advisors. The hospitality of this house remains unrivalled."

"Very good my Lord, the Prince shall be informed directly. Good morning."

Éomer closed the door and rested his forehead against it for a second.

"I should get to my chambers before they miss me. Excuse me." Lothíriel swept past him quickly and left. He felt cold for a second, and foolish. They could have both been in trouble. Then he turned to change his trousers and put his boots on.

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ta-da. please review in a peaceful manner, love skinnyrita xxx 


	7. Faramir

Hello again. Ah see I'm a good updater. That's because the end is vaguely near and I want to get this one finished for everyone before returning to 'Flying the Nest', which has been neglected for a long time! Reviews first:

Chocolate Trinkit: Thanks I will begin sneaking in her brothers now, as they play a part later (la la laa laaa laaaa). Thanks for your tips I take them into account, and I'm glad you're enjoying the fic more now! Do review this chapter, I had to give them a brief break, next chap we can go into battle.

Lady Scribe of Avandell: What can I say to your short review first -um this sounds sooo completely bigheaded but I thought that if I said Lothiriel was prettier than me I would seem mildly modest. In future I will just admit to being totally gorgeous. Lol. Ah I dunno, I don't think we should stress about Lothiriel too much. Did I get Eomer ok? He's who I like most in this. (mmmm Eomer) Onto other review -yes I think I've read your fic... what else... um what else did you put?? Oh right, lust I think is always a major factor, and I know from experience as i expect most of us do, that it is very easy to want to jump the bones of some guy you absolutely hate. However, as Eomer and Lothiriel converse more, they will get to know each other more too. Last bit: Eomer is a sensible man and I did wonder what I could have him do at the end. He can't go after her in case they get caught (also he's half dressed), and he is unlikely to want to throw something in a guest-room, he's too macho to sit and feel sorry for himself or worried... so he does what he needs to do: on with the boots.

Lady Hades: farewell my dear, 'tis a pity that you are to leave us. Glad that both you and Lady Scribe have said that you like my writing style :-).

Blue Eyes at Night: I love Eomer. I'm afraid Eomer won't be getting shirtless again for a while as they have an ambush to conduct soon, but patience they say is a virtue. (mmmmm Eomer...) very glad you thought it was funny too.

EruntaleofRohan: thanks! :-)

Wonderye: Yes I think that this story is really more about Eomer. He and Lothi are more alike than they realise I reckon.

Phew! On with the tale, please review, I felt that Faramir should not be neglected. After all, he is her cousin. Disclaimer: I am alive, Tolkien is dead. I am a girl, he was a man... can I make this more obvious? OK: I did not write LOTR. Not even a blade of grass. All I own of this is the plot and a few made up names.

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**The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.**

_PART SEVEN._

"Good morning father."

Lothíriel waited for the advisors to file out and crossed the study. Prince Imrahil was sitting in a high backed chair facing the window overlooking the bay below. She edged closer, gauging his mood. They hadn't been conversing very well lately. His elbows rested on the arms of the chair, fingers steepled under his chin. She kissed him on the top of his head.

"Hello, Lothi." Ah. A very dull, flat, grey sound. 'Hello' –what was that then?

Hello.

A normal greeting, I like to think.

But a daughter who has lived with her father's complex moods for over twenty years starts to see patterns. Hello. In the morning, that meant 'I am dead today. My life has become devoid of meaning and gloom is hanging over my head.' But _Lothi_. Now THAT meant, 'I forgive you and I love you, and today I will listen to you.' A complex man.

"I hoped we could go to breakfast together. I'm going into battle tonight."

Imrahil took one of her hands and kissed it. He looked extremely old. "Did you think I'd forgotten? Come, I want a nice walk with my daughter. Let's take the scenic route." He heaved himself up.

Lothíriel had been lying. She had come to escape Éomer.

Éomer attacked his hair with a bristly horsehair brush, which had seen more battles in his pack than he cared recall. And now he was up to his neck in the worst one he'd ever encountered- the war against himself. He pulled his hair back over his shoulders with a shrug, hoping that no one would notice the state of it, and smoothed the slightly frizzy bits at the top. It would do. He tried to look at himself in the polished bronze bits of his shield, but the outline was too fuzzy to see if he looked in any way handsome. After ten seconds of preening he felt like a ponce.

There was a loud, brisk knock on his door and he opened it expecting to see a servant (he didn't dare hope it could be Lothíriel). He was met with Legolas, who as usual looked impeccably groomed and completely at ease with the prospect of oncoming battle. "Morning," he said, genially, "got time to come down to the stables with me? The Dwarf if going to drive me insane."

"One moment," said Éomer. If Legolas noticed the testy tone of his voice, he didn't mention it. He checked scabbard and sword before following the eternal youth out of the house. His horse was stabled in the Rohirrim camp, where they were both greeted politely, Éomer sometime jovially, Legolas sometime warily.

"Good day, Hama."

"Good morning my Lord. Lord Legolas," said Hama, falling into step with Éomer to discuss the coming day. "The men grow restless, Éomer. Roused at five as ordered, horses checked and exercised, men drilled on the horse –we await you in the practice rings to lead field exercise."

"Good, good, thank you Hama. I just have to check on Firefoot; has he been exercised?"

"Done myself."

"Then I will return for the sword after breakfast; our audience is requested with the Prince."

"Good my Lord, may we expect you by half eleven?"

"At the latest. And now I beg you get a bite yourself, I can tell you haven't eaten yet. We will need some energy for tonight. Go to, I will speak with you later in my council tent following training."

They reached the makeshift stables, which were vast, Legolas and Éomer entering, Hama turning away and jogging back to camp.

"This morning seems to bring little dread," said Legolas, standing in front of a golden mare and admiring her nose.

"I have some dread. Legolas, I count you as a friend and did so ever since you rose out of the grass in Rohan, so I will tell you this: that it is for none of my own men that I hold this dread, nor for myself, but for the Princess. Lothíriel."

"She is a brave woman and accomplished soldier. I have seen her in the training rings, even since her sudden malady. Have you a cause for dread?"

"My mind falters some. I spoke to her… yesterday (he thought it would probably be unwise to say 'last night'), and she told me of her brothers. I heard Imrahil speak of them too, when we were in Gondor. They are said to be three of the most fearsome warriors on Middle Earth. Stealthy and silent killers. You will not take it amiss I know when I tell you that I thought strongly of Elves, and their connection back through the ages by blood to your own people. Get now are they gone. Perhaps dead."

"The Princess does not believe that to be."

"I thought as much. But this has been my question: would an orc have the wit to take the Princess, although in soldiers' garb, given a chance?"

"I hope for her sake that you worry needlessly," said Legolas, turning to face him wearing an uncharacteristic frown.

"So do I."

When Lothíriel and her father entered the dining hall they saw a few advisors of the various authorities assembled and discussing leather thickness for saddles –the couple of blonde men who had made the walk up from the Rohirrim camp exercising some knowledge in this area. Legolas had rejoined Aragorn and Gimli, who were smoking pipes and blowing large smoke rings into the fireplace. Imrahil took a plate of meat and eggs from the main table and made his way over to them.

Lothíriel dithered by the table, wondering which group she should make an attempt to sit with. She glanced about for her younger sisters as such busy times had left her little time for play, but they were not in the room. She was just contemplating how rude it would look to take her plate onto the terrace and seek out Cerahil, who was sure to have some pipe weed on him, when she heard her name being called.

"Lothíriel? Cousin, won't you please join us?" called Faramir warmly. Lothíriel turned and noticed him in the corner talking to Éomer. Both had their feet up, boots resting on the bench between them that was also supporting their steaming cups of tea. Éomer looked up at her. He ran a hand over his beard involuntarily, looking slightly uneasy and rather guilty. Lothíriel rubbed her nose quickly so that no one would see her nostrils flaring. Faramir smiled at her, oblivious of the exchange. Damn. She would have to go over there.

"How are you this morning cousin? My Lord Éomer, I… hope you slept well."

"I am well and all the better for seeing you before tonight," said Faramir, rising to kiss her on the cheek. "You look beautiful, cousin, your health looks greatly improved."

"Thank you, really I am very well," she replied. Steeling her courage, she turned to face Éomer, who gave her a private smile. That smile held a lot of secrets.

"I slept very well, my Lady. This house holds the best in hospitality. I would not be sorry to return here, in peace." Lothíriel cleared her throat, and then raised her chin.

"I would not object to having any of our guests return under more enjoyable circumstances." Éomer gave the slightest of nods. Lothíriel curtsied and sat down. If she had let him kiss her hand she would not have survived it.

After a slightly shaky start, in which Éomer and Lothíriel concentrated on eating and drinking and Faramir was left to attempt topics of conversation, they began to relax a little, and as the Prince of Ithilien and the Princess of Dol Amroth began recounting some of the funnier escapades of their youth, like the time Faramir and the Lady had attempted a race, on horseback, blindfolded, trying to keep the horses between lines of shells and spears, and were soundly beaten by Boromir, who had given both of them a two minute head start. Or the time when Faramir was convinced Lothíriel was drowning out in the sea and it was really just Amrothos trying to dive for pearls. (Who had not been best pleased to have been mistaken for a girl and had cut his hair short that very afternoon.)

Éomer began telling stories of his attempts to get Eowyn to ride her own horse but she had been so adamant that his own should be hers that he'd given it to her as a gift when she was fifteen. Or the 'adventures' he and Theodred had had way out on the plains, only to be scolded by his sister on their return because they had promised to school her in swordsmanship.

'That smile is gorgeous,' thought Lothíriel, suddenly, as she saw Éomer let go, care rippling away from his forehead to his hairline, as if it had never been there. She saw the man he had been before his cousin's death had heaped on the responsibilities, to be closely followed with the weight of unexpected kingship. 'I want to find that man again.'

"I wish I'd known you then," she said, without thinking. Éomer stopped laughing and looked at her. She dropped her gaze and concentrated on her cup. Faramir's eyes flicked between them.

Éomer cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I will be late for the sword. I would fain let down my men." He set his plate down and offered a bow to Lothíriel and a nod to Faramir before departing.

Faramir trained his eye on his cousin. She glanced up at him with wide, guilty eyes. 'There it is, she's a woman again," he thought. "I was thinking of walking for a while. I have no duties at the moment. Will you accompany me?"

"Alright."

They made their way to the small courtyard gardens at the back of the house, to a small section housing a fountain shaped like a fish, a bench, and some red flowers shaped like horns.

"Lothi? Lothi stop. I've known you my whole life, don't shut me out now. Lothi what have you done?"

"I spent the night in his room," said Lothíriel, frankly, concentrating on the fish.

"Oh, Lothi!" Faramir sat down on the bench and slumped his shoulders. Lothíriel leaned on the rim of the fountain bowl and faced him.

"You MUST keep this a secret, please, please Faramir. Besides, nothing happened."

"Do you wish it had?" Lothíriel gave him a sharp look. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I don't know." She didn't want to mention the nearly-kiss. "But I really don't want to do the ambush with him later."

"You idiot."

"I know, I know," she sat next to him and tilted her head back to look at the sky. "I only went in there to talk about the strategy for tonight. I thought it would unnerve him. I hoped… he just seemed to think he knows so much. We just couldn't get on. I thought maybe if I caught him off guard- but then it turned out he DOES know everything. The plan he devised, it's flawless -I'll be surprised if we have even twenty casualties all night. It's true. He is a great strategist. There's everything. Back up plans, the lot. He asked me my opinion all the way through."

"It all seems perfect from where I'm sitting."

"I know! But that's what we have a council room for, isn't it? Not… beds…" said Lothíriel, with a groan, sliding down the seat and slouching in a most inelegant manner.

"Right." Faramir chuckled and put him arm round her in a lopsided hug. "Well, at least you didn't jump on him."

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She nearly did though ;-). Do review, love to you all, skinnyrita xxxx 


	8. Ambush

**so sorry I haven't updated for AGES. replie to reviewers first:**

Blue Eyes At Night -**She jumps on him now. Thank you for your review of my Draco fic, as well, I'm glad you liked it I was worried it ended on a crap note. Still not sure it's one of my best. Xxx **

Chocolate Trinkit **–Yeah, another reviewer told me that they were older but by the time I knew, hey, the damage was done. Hopefully that's not too huge a mistake? It's quite important that they're all roughly the same age (Lothi, Faramir and Éomer) as it helps them relate to each other. I'd say that in my fic Éomer and Faramir are both older than Lothi, but not by too much –five years max? I didn't think Lothi had other sisters but I put them in so she has some little things to love. All sisters need little sisters. Also for the awww factor. Lol. Glad you're enjoying it! Xxx**

lady scribe of avandell -**Yes I am much happier with my Éomer now and hoping everyone likes Faramir because he is a great character to mess with. Um that's all… ah except that I'm afraid it may take Lothíriel longer to come round to Éomer than it does for him to appreciate her. (in the less 'animalistic' sense) xxx**

Lometari -**Thanks so much! Very glad most people think story is improving. I think it is too. Updates may not be so frequent as it's my birthday on tues and then we partAY all week! Hooray! But this is nearly over, maybe I should be dragging it out more. I'd say 3-4 chapters and it's done. Xxx Read your own Lothi/Éomer fic by the way, it was v good!**

MexicanDevil-RoadCrew-**Lol I hope I'm not having too much trouble anymore. Your review reminded me that I haven't updated for ages –I'm trying to get down to it! Thanks your review was really unexpected cuz I'd kinda put this fic on the backburner for a while. Please keep reading! Xxx**

harry potter sucks- **Thanks for the nice comments. I haven't updated partly due to laziness and partly to writers' block –ok mainly the lazy factor. Also life V hectic atm. I drool over Éomer!**

**disclaimer-i do not own any part of LOTR. **

On with the show. sorry it's months overdue!

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**The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.**

PART EIGHT.

Lothíriel crouched in the shadow of a large tree at the edge of the woods. Faintly she could hear the stir of hundreds of horses and their riders, lying in wait for her signal. Then, they would attack. They had to wait for the foot and artillery of the Three Companies to have distracted the massing force against them. There was a tumultuous clash of battle beyond their hiding place, across the plain, as the foot soldiers took the second wave of the ambush, giving support to the artillery who had attacked first. The orcs now had to alter their fighting strategy to accommodate two ways of using force. Lothíriel glanced up through the dark branches swirling over her head and spied the moon. When it was shining directly down into her space, then she would give the signal.

She shifted, snapping a twig that no one but the next scout could hear. She felt too hot here, the waiting was making her sweat and she didn't like it. Being on the edge of a battle you're about to get dragged into, seeing men dying and being forced to do nothing because strategy was dictating their moves, was a very oppressing feeling. The moon glimmered on the point of her silver and blue shield, and the outline of the ship glowed like a spirit. Lothíriel glanced sideways at the scout to her right, who nodded and gripped his own spear tighter. She offered him a grim smile that he could barely see because of her helmet.

She stood up, a lone and obvious target in the bushes. Her sword came up and pointed at a upward slant towards the battle. 'Onward,' was the message. Behind her she heard the horn of Rohan sound and Éomer's loud call sounding the third wave of ambush. The riders of Dol Amroth and Rohan began to advance. Lothíriel led the other scouts as they scrambled to the side of the forest, which would within five minutes have a host of horsemen swarming out of it. She saw Éomer ride past without noticing her, alert and confident at the front of the onslaught. When the last rider had past, her heart leapt in her mouth, knowing that she would be facing her largest ever battle, and that this night was nowhere near done.

"Attack!" she shouted impulsively, stirring her scouts to take the last advance, "ATTACK! By all that you hold dear, if you would ever live by the fair sea, in her salt airs and her lapping peace: attack now for Dol Amroth and the Swan and Ship you sail by!"

The battle was long and intense. Adrenaline alone was feeding the shattered body of Lothíriel as she ducked and swayed. Never in practice had she ever encountered anything like this that she was caught up in the middle of, her temple a bloody mess from an insufficient knock to the head, her hands cut and bleeding, her heart pounding all over her body. She could only think 'I must live, I must live!' There was no glory resounding in her heart, no courage for her people. On this most bloodiest of nights, all men fought for was their lives. It was half an hour before dawn when the orcs began to retreat. There was the uncertain pause. She knew she must order her troops, but could not yell.

"Retreat! Retreat to Dol Amroth!" Thank the Gods for Benadil. He suddenly appeared out of the noise, at her side. In that hour he gave her strength, when she remembered that she was just a woman, but all these warriors were just men.

"Retreat Eorlingas!" Éomer! Lothíriel spun around, desperate for the source of that calm and commanding voice. That battle-worn voice. A man she now thought worthy of respect. But in the turmoil she could not find his face.

Lothíriel did not get sleep. She stood on the balcony of the council room, caked with blood and gore, her hair sticky with it, watching her father and his swan knights march out to the already tattered battle plain, with the Gondorian army behind him, ready for the second ambush, the one that would finish this. There would be bloodshed all day. A red sun was rising. She felt the door stir behind her and turned to face her second in command.

Benadil had seen better days, though his appearance was more aesthetically pleasing. Having just been to the healers he was not encrusted with brown, stale scabs, grime and trails of sweat. He smelled freshly bathed, bandages curling up his arm, around his left leg, and a clotted blood dried on the large scratch over the bridge of his nose. He offered her a brotherly smile: appropriate, as she now had no one. "You need to rest. There will be no news until the end."

Lothíriel spun back to look over the busy city, which was waking up. Market vendors were setting up stalls as usual, as though their husbands and sons were not out dying. Some of them were wearing black. Some of them had already lost their loved ones last night. Lothíriel trembled and glanced at her thin fingers. Fingers that could catch an arrow. Fingers that looked so easily breakable. "I can't."

Goodbye clever conceited princess Lothíriel, commander of the Three Companies. Hello, nervous wreck.

"If you will not, you'd better borrow this," said Benadil, offering her his pipe. She laughed piteously and accepted it.

Lothíriel had never been so busy. All day she never once saw Éomer. She did not give herself pause to wonder how badly damaged he was. She did not go to the healers- in the end they came to her, and hid any concern. She steeped herself in paperwork, finishing all the reports and financial business stacked up in her father's rooms. She worked like a manic servant, determined to distract herself from the battlefield that lay halfway out to Gondor. By the time night fell, however, there had still been no word.

Éomer found himself of two minds. He knew of the princess' condition, but was hesitant to seek her company. Now that his part of the war for Dol Amroth was complete, he could see no reason not to admit to himself the obvious attraction he felt for her. But she had not sent for him, and he would not upset any of her customs by offering his dubious companionship. Instead he had not rested, for fear of reflecting too keenly on the woman. Instead, he packed out his day without pause, personally checking the men and horses, visiting the wounded, identifying and noting the names and number of the dead, who seemed less than he had anticipated when leaving the field. It was dusk by the time Hama grabbed him almost roughly and flat out demanded that his liege go back to the city and to bed.

The house on the sea seemed deserted when he reached it, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle. The servants were quiet, though not lacking in the deference due to a king. Éomer declined the polite offer of dinner, knowing that it was likely he would be alone for it, and only took a large glass of wine up to his room. The room was swathed in darkness. He set the glass down on an ornate chest of drawers and stripped off his armour, throwing the unworn helmet on the bed, where it bounced slightly. He glanced to the left and halted, drawing his sword. "Who's there?"

Éomer's heart did a funny pirouette and fell over. He sheathed his sword quickly and tried to keep a respectable difference between the intruder and himself. "Has there been news?" A shake of the head: no. "What are you… doing here?"

"Sleepwalking," said Lothíriel, unconvincingly.

"Lothíriel…"

"What is Faramir like in battle, my Lord? Is he going to die? Will my father die too? All my friends…w-what was it like for you? Did you feel this much? I'm weak, a weak woman, not even that, I'm a horrible little girl!"

Éomer moved forward on impulse and gently grasped her arms. If Lothíriel was going to be hysterical he didn't know what he could do. "You are… a beautiful, courageous woman. I have never seen such valour, such perseverance, such love," he said vehemently, without noticing that what was spilling out of his mouth was true. Pain flashed across both of their features, as Lothíriel visualised her solitude if all the ruling powers of her city were dead, leaving her alone. Éomer suffered flashbacks of all the deaths of all the men in his family, of the men who should have been privy to the power he held.

"Beautiful? Oh, don't you hate me Éomer?" Lothíriel could not cry. She was too inexperienced at it.

"If you let me, 'warrior princess', I will love you," said Éomer. Then he kissed her, at last.

Their first kisses were not romantic. They were scared, pained and frantic. They were not how real lovers should act.

They awoke only four hours after falling asleep; it was not yet daybreak. They had been reckless to sleep in Éomer's bed –if anyone had come in without knocking they could have had some explaining to do. Éomer felt a soft touch ghost over his cheek and opened his eyes.

"I should go. If we don't get news soon I need to send scouts."

Éomer sat up and looked down at the raven-haired beauty next to him, a bruised yet seemingly perfect body, the blankets bunched up around her rounded stomach, the bandage he had had to be careful not to disturb tightly wrapped around her ribcage. He swallowed. "Are you sorry?"

"No!" said Lothíriel, aghast, curling her fingers into his long golden hair and pulling him down to kiss him again. This was a lovers' kiss. The good kind. The perfect kind. She smiled.

"Good," he whispered into her neck, caressingher soft sqashy breasts,"because I would readily give my entire kingdom, including my horse, just to touch you again." Lothíriel blushed.

When she got to her room she had barely begun finding clean clothes when there was a sudden, incessant hammering at the wooden door. Before she could reach it, it was wrenched open to reveal Benadil, whose face was red and sweaty.

"They're back."

"Father!" exclaimed Lothíriel and rushed out, dashing past him.

"Wait!" shouted Benadil urgently. "Wait! I must prepare you…"

"Father!" Lothíriel crashed into Prince Imrahil's study, not having heeded any more of Benadil's cries. Her father sat frozen, as if waiting for her to do something. She sensed a movement, and turned to her left.

"Oh Oh my! Oh my" Lothíriel was beyond word or greeting. She felt winded. Shaking fingers reached out and tried to grasp all three men at once. Her breathing was erratic and she was swimming with faintness. At last, tears freed and coursed down her cheeks. Three sets of hands leapt to steady her as her knees buckled: somehow, inexplicably, Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos stood before their oldest sister.

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ends of cliffhanger. 'aie!' they cry, 'how come those chaps are back?' Aha, you can find out when I get off my lazy arse to update again! 

reviews will speed this up.

love rita xxxx


	9. Love?

Aha, see how quickly I can update when I put my mind to it? lol. Thank you Blue Eyes at Night, wondereye and Chocolate Trinkit for your wonderful and enthusiastic reviews!

Well I must tell you that this is the penultimate chapter -I did tell you there was shockingly little left to go! so in advance i want to thank everyone who has reviewed, keep em coming!

**disclaimer -me not tolkien, me rita, skinnyrita. me lost marbles. k.o? **

enjoy xxx

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**The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.**

PART NINE.

Éomer was restless despite keeping himself busy. He had been gladdened by the victory, and relieved to greet Faramir, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli that morning, all in one piece and looking fit and happy, barely bandaged. He breathed relief on behalf of his sister and had shaken Faramir in particular warmly by the hand, spending most of the day in his company. By the second day, however, when he had not seen her and had not spoken to her, and had not touched her, he was more restless than he ever cared tell.

He knew that the Rohirrim were starting to wonder why they were still hanging around this foreign city now that the battle was over. Though for the most part they had revelled in the sight of the sea, and the feel of floating in the saltwater, he knew that like him all they wanted to do now was to go home to the rolling plains behind them, and rear their horses again, laugh with their children, see their wives. Not really at all like Éomer then, for he felt increasingly torn and troubled. He had only glimpsed the princess at mealtimes, where she had been far too occupied with her family around her again to pay him much notice save a quick flash of a smile. He wanted to stay, as he feverishly clung to the hope of these smiles, and what they might mean she wanted from any relationship they had forged, yet he also ached to be home, and concerned only with Rohan. As he had no wife or children, however, perhaps his ache was less than that of the majority of his army.

It was the very early morning of the third day when Éomer decided maybe it would be better if he began gathering his camp back together for the long march homeward. Hama had tactfully hinted at the restlessness and growing anxiety creeping into the camp, and Éomer was not deaf. He made a special effort that morning to give every horse his own personal inspection, to boost the homesick spirits around him, and then informed his officials that he would seek a private audience with Prince Imrahil that evening, to offer him farewell and invitation to visit their own lands. This was readily agreed to. It looked as though they would be gone within the week.

Thus satisfied, Éomer appeared punctual as always at breakfast, which was now a far livelier affair, with Lothíriel's little sisters all smiles and sweetness once more, her brothers, who it transpired in what Éomer thought was really quite a boring way, chained up in an orc holding cell, keeping close to their father, whose shoulders no longer appeared quite so stooped. Alphros, Elphir's young son, was on his best behaviour, sitting with a small plate at the brothers' feet. Éomer filled his plate slowly, taking the chance to glance round discreetly for Lothíriel, who he noticed was in conversation with Faramir, and for once apart from her newly found brothers. He approached them.

"Good morrow Faramir, my Lady," he offered Lothíriel a bow of his head.

She returned it, "Good morning my Lord."

"Take a seat Éomer," said Faramir genially, kind eyes crinkling, sensing the awkwardness between the two, "I was just relating to Lothi that we're due to march out tomorrow. Aragorn will probably want to shake your hand before we leave. The men are all bellyaching about missing their wives. Though I must say, I'm fair sick to get back to my own!"

Éomer smiled at him, and said, "yes, I will have to see Prince Imrahil myself later. I think everyone's tired for home now. We hope to leave ourselves within the week."

"Are you in such a hurry to leave, Lord Éomer?" Oh yes, he could detect a hint of panic in her voice.

"I would happily rest in such a fair realm for ever," he aid delicately, aware of Faramir's amused gaze, "yet I cannot disappoint my men who wish to return to their loved ones."

They finished their breakfast in silence, dwelling on each other. Finally Faramir broke it with the apology that he should go down to the Gondorian camp and check over the wounded. A quick glance around the dining hall had told him that Aragorn had already left.

Éomer also excused himself, but he had barely got out into the deserted hallway when he felt a tug on his arm, and realised that Lothíriel had pulled him behind a large pillar.

"Are you going soon?"

"Would you care?" He wasn't sure why he asked it.

"I- I- what is between us or did you think that nothing happened? What do you feel for me, I want to know!" she had dropped her voice to an angry whisper as a servant passed by their hiding place balancing a large vase on a tray.

"I feel that I _love_ you, but I haven't seen you for days now!" hissed Éomer angrily, unconsciously gripping her arms, his flushed face close to hers, "do you hold me in so little regard that you think I would just take you without feeling? Have you no respect for any part of my own character, when I have grown so deeply in affection for you? Are you perhaps blind to me? Can't you _see_ that I love you?" his breathing had grown harsh. His vision cleared and he was gazing into her shocked, blushing face. He loosened his grip on her and calmed down, hanging his head. "I'm sorry, do forgive me, I should not have raised my voice." He sighed. "I know you have been busy with your family at this time. I was jealous and upset. Please, ignore my incivility."

Lothiriel's eyes were very bright, staring up into his noble face. A King indeed. "You- you love me?"

Éomer moved closer to her gently, hope kindling in his veins. "I do. Will you love me, Princess Lothíriel?" he was speaking quietly, as if not to be overheard, though it felt to them that they had passed into their own private world.

Lothíriel started nodding mutely, slowly at first, then faster as the euphoria of finally comprehending these strange feelings bubbling and churning her up inside were realised. "Yes!" she finally managed, "yes, yes!" She thought suddenly that it was absolutely imperative that he understands her.

Éomer kissed her softly on the lips, then both of her hands. He glanced down at her bare feet. "I will have to go away though. I can't keep my men here forever. It isn't fair."

"I know."

They were interrupted by the unmistakeable sound of Prince Imrahil's newly discovered laugh, and sprang apart. "I have to talk to my advisors now, I promised I'd let them proposition me on the expenses of roads or something equally boring," said Éomer humorously, touching his forehead to Lothíriel's for a second. "But I'll find you later."

Lothíriel combed out her long dark curls with unnecessary care. Her hands were tingling because she was overcome with unexplainable nerves. It was not as though she was about to venture where never before. But then again, it all felt different. Definitely for the good, she decided. She rubbed a little water that had had flowers floating in it on her pulse points and glanced around again at her room, which she had for once tidied so that it couldn't be recognised, even by herself.

The knock at her door was quiet, secret. She opened it and let Éomer in. he was wearing a simple tunic and trousers, his hair rippling in golden waves over his shoulders; she thought he looked magnificent.

Éomer closed the door behind him and they stood looking at each other for a moment. He knew that this time it would be different. Last time had been rushed, a source of comfort for both to ease off the worry and the restlessness they had needed to beat up of them. This time it somehow would mean an awful lot more. He closed the distance and ran a finger through the soft long spirals at the side of her head, trailing the line down her side to her waist before kissing her gently.

Lothíriel smiled up into Éomer's kind eyes and knew that it would be all right.

It was only when she awoke the next morning to find herself nestled against the golden-haired man, his arm slung possessively round her waist, his sleeping face a picture of perfect content, that she remembered he was leaving.

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how sad it is but next chappie should bring this story to a close. please express all views!

love skinnyrita xxx


	10. LeaveTaking

reviews first-

Elessar-Lover -thank you i'm glad you like Lothi, I've worked hard to improve her.

Blue Eyes At Night -this is the last chapter but I'm glad you enjoyed it thanks for faithful reviewing! xx

From: MexicanDevil-RoadCrew -very naughty of them! thanks I'm glad you like it!

From: Lometari -here I am updating pronto -happy Easter!

allie -what a ridiculously pointless review, and considering you only read chapter one, well frankly I'm appalled that anyone can be so lax.

wondereye- it comes to a close. thanks for all your encouraging support. xxx

FlyingShipwreak -wow, 2 reviews! very encouraging! and I apologise for any grammar errors profuseley.

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This is the last part of the tale, the end has finally arrived: I hope you enjoyed it. I hope I made writing progress throughour this fic, I am quite proud of it, personally. Happy Easter to you all: here is your present, please enjoy and leave comments.

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**The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.**

PART TEN.

Éomer opened his eyes and found himself on his side, confronted by the mingling tangle of gold and dark brown curls all mixed up together on the pillows. He smiled easily into Lothíriel's striking face. She glowed from within. His smile felt like soft caramel to be manipulated whichever way. It dominated his features. Their tanned skin of outdoor soldiers sparked in the mottled sunlight streaming through the parted white hangings that led to the princess' balcony. When she leaned down to kiss him with those sad smiling eyes meeting his own, their lips locked together like the last pieces of a puzzle game and he felt that his heart was being torn into little pieces.

"It's still early. Everyone will be getting up soon."

Éomer dressed in silence, and stood patiently while his shirt buttons were adjusted and the collar smoothed. With a jolt he began to understand that this was all he ever wanted. But now he had to leave the room and creep back up to the guest room before 'waking up' and going down to the Rohan camp. He wondered how far Hama would have them packed up and ready to go, desperate to run on the plains again. In peace. Why couldn't he want that too?

Lothíriel stuck her head out of her bedroom door and glimpsed a servant running about with a basket of wood at the end of the otherwise deserted corridor. The servant quickly disappeared. Éomer felt his fingers tremble involuntarily. He wet his lips, intent on speaking, but in the end he didn't. He had a strong suspicion that for the first time in years he might be violently ill. There was not enough air in his brain as he stumbled through the door and began to negotiate the way to his room.

Lothíriel shut her door quietly and leaned against it. Then she took a deep breath and cried. Lothíriel cried like she had never cried before. She even sobbed. In all her life, even in her darkest moments, she had never wished for death to take her so badly than in this melodramatic fit of despair. When she finally took a hold on herself she crossed the room to her water basin and was viciously sick.

"Legolas."

If Éomer had suspected meeting anyone on his sneaking voyage back to his room, it was not the Elf.

"Good morning Éomer. Up early? Beautiful morning for travelling. I'm just off to see if Gimli's going to bother a last visit to the shore before we prepare to march out," said Legolas breezily, looking for all the world as though he was in the very first bloom of youth, his blond hair fanning out neatly behind him, yet still with some strange airy abandon. "But perhaps you're in truth on your way to bed," he said, shrewdly. Éomer opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it. Legolas gave him a wise smile, and said kindly, "I thought so. Do not make yourself uneasy, Elf-friend, there is no one else about to accost you."

He bowed to Éomer, which was returned in kind, before moving aside to let him pass.

"Oh and Éomer," he called back softly. Éomer paused though his face was too red to face the humiliation of turning, "Congratulations."

He was still pondering the meaning of this statement and beginning to grasp at straws of hope again when he reached his room and hurriedly changed his clothes, his heart pumping with renewed vigour and feeling a great deal lighter.

Lothíriel was having a terrible morning. She had managed to see off the Gondorian army, along with Faramir, whose conversation she would miss most keenly, Legolas her new-found friend and confidant, the ever courteous Gimli and their enigmatic King Aragorn, without mishap, handling herself correctly and perfectly as a lady of the court, representative of the City and above all Princess of Dol Amroth should. She could not bring herself to meet the eye of her own lover. She was dreading the afternoon send-off to the Rohirrim.

It was a comfortingly familiar feeling to find herself sprinting up the sand before the lunch feast, the prospect of which was filling her with anxiety. She could not see how she would be able to sit and make polite conversation under her father's nose, her focus on the importance of being an important ambassador for their kingdom whilst also acting suitably indifferent to any gaze offered in her direction by the golden King of Rohan. So she ran, and ran… and ran. Until she was out of breath and the stitch in her side began to sting as though struck by a blade.

Lothíriel threw herself down on the sand, discarding the sandals that had dangled from her fingers carelessly beside her. She let herself ponder her own position. It had not been with too heavy a heart that she had restored each of the Three Companies to the right brother, watching them re-unite with the men, with Benadil, with their right powers. She was enjoying the feeling of freedom from such restraining responsibility, but suspected that in a very little time that freedom would become boring. She tried to remember what she used to do, before her brothers' disappearance, and could not think of anything that could have occupied her time so completely. She began to realise that the only thing of use for her to do would be to get married.

"Horses ready?"

"All except yours, Éomer."

"Good, you know me well Hama."

"I do: you would not let anyone make ready your horse besides yourself."

"No other except _yourself_."

"Well, I am honoured."

They were standing in the makeshift stable, which was slowly being emptied around them. Éomer was masking his jangling stomach by busying himself with the ordering of the leave-taking, which in truth was weighing heavily. He had not seen Lothíriel since the Gondorians had marched out and didn't know where she was, or how to steal any more time alone with her. He stopped a squire to ask for the time, conscious of it slipping away from him, when they were due to one last feast with Prince Imrahil at lunchtime. Hama and himself were invited to sit in places of honour, with all his other councillors present in high state, so they were determined to dress up smartly like they never had before. He was proud to have secured this ally and was also keen to turn Lothíriel's head enough for her to at least look at him one more time. That was, if he ever found her.

Lothíriel stood in front of her looking glass, for once allowing the superior judgement of a maid to her state of dress. Unbidden, the memory of her father's shout of 'this is politics' rang in her brain. She was determined not to mess this event up. At least when the Rohirrim and their King were safely gone away she could relax again. …She seriously doubted that.

They were all waiting on a lady.

"Any minute now," said Imrahil genially, though there was a slight nervous edge to his voice. His sons sitting around him seemed perturbed by their sister's lateness, but it was Éomer who was rattling with nerves. His right leg twitched under the table.

"Her royal highness, Princess Lothíriel!" the herald stepped aside.

Lothíriel appeared. She was wearing a simply cut dark green gown with a high v-neck trimmed with silver. Her hair was piled on top of her head. Éomer stood up without thinking. The entire assembled company stared at him, before Hama tactfully jumped to his feet himself. There was a pause before all the men assembled rose as one. Lothíriel approached the table. The only spare seat was opposite Him. She didn't know if she could take the tension. They were all seated. Lunch began.

Éomer stared at his plate, only engaging in conversation when he was addressed directly. It was only when Hama leaned across him in the pretence of topping up his wine glass and tactfully reminded him that he was starting to appear a little rude to his host, that he finally got his act together and began pouring all the wit and courtesy he could muster into conversation with Prince Imrahil and his sons. Across the table Lothíriel remained silent, only eating a very little. She did not attempt to join the conversation. Her fingers were trembling and she had a bitter taste in the back of her throat. She knew that if they were forced to address each other it would give away far too much. She felt her nostrils flaring as feelings began to build up inside her, and wiped her mouth quickly with her napkin so that no one would be able to see.

"All assembled and ready to march my Lord."

Éomer nodded curtly and hesitated. His mind worked furiously. If he did nothing now, he would forget it forever…

"Hama!" his voice came out harsh and strained. Several of the men nearby looked up curiously. Éomer cleared his throat and moved away from the rest. Hama approached warily, carrying a saddle under his arm. He waited. Éomer was clearly in a state of agitated distraction. He took two paces forward before stopping short and turning to the side as if suddenly making up his mind about something. "Hama," he repeated, abruptly, "would you come down to look at the shore with me before we march out?"

"Éomer, you seem troubled. I will follow you once I have saddled my galloper." Éomer nodded once and took off at disturbing speed down to the beach below. Hama stood for a moment, frowning.

"Lothíriel!"

Lothíriel whipped round and stared at the source of the voice. 'Go away,' she thought desperately, 'go home, I can't take any more.' She was sitting on a large rock a few metres into the bay where the water surrounding her was deeper. Somehow she always felt isolated on this rock, though at that moment she was acutely aware that it was in the plainest view possible of the house.

Éomer felt reckless. What was to be gained by not taking this chance? A lifetime of misery? Well, he was always a risk-taker.

Lothíriel could do little else but stare as the King of Rohan, fully clothed in his best riding gear, plunged straight into the sea and began resolutely wading out to her. "W-what are you _doing_?" she said incredulously, as he came within reach of the rock. He was staring at her with a look of wild euphoria as he reached the boulder and braced himself on it, treading water. He gazed up at her, oblivious of the shouts of the astounded crowd that had begun to gather on the shoreline behind him. Her mouth was open in an expression of utmost amazement.

"I have to know-!" he began, hindered by his heavy breathing and the effort of staying afloat in dress armour. "I- Princess Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, who I hold in highest regard and will most likely have my head for leading such a vision astray – I-" he paused to catch more breath. That armour was monstrously heavy; he would have to get rid of that tradition… "I love you!" it exploded from him loudly, because it had taken so much breath and effort to manage. If he was going to drown, at least he would die extremely happy… the crowd on the beach gasped as one but he didn't hear it. Lothíriel's hands came down and latched onto the top buckles of his breastplate, holding him afloat. He looked into her eyes for the first substantial period since that morning on waking. Her face was flushed and beautiful. Éomer spat out a bit of saltwater, and cried out, "I know it's not a perfect setting, and a terrible proposal, being half drowned, and you are far, _far_ too good for me…" he inhaled sharply and kicked his legs harder beneath him, unconsciously searching for a rock or something to put his foot on, "BUT! Princess Lothíriel, would you do me the greatest honour, _and consent to be my wife_?"

There was an anxious intake of breath from the audience, who all moved involuntarily forward as Éomer, who was after all the last heir of his family, sank below the water again. Lothíriel jumped off the rock and in a minute both heads appeared above the waves.

The King of Rohan, who was clinging onto the rock for dear life supported by Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth, and no longer Commander of the Three Companies, looked into his love's face and captured that smile in his memory forever. The sun beat down on their soaked forms, dazzling them. No, it was not very elegant of them to kiss before such a large crowd, but they were both of that disposition of forgetting to abide by the correct etiquette. And no, it had not been a well-planned or eloquent proposal.

None of that would ever matter.

"Son of Eomund, I _would_."

_**THE END.**_

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**_reviews please, love skinnyrita xxx_**


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